kill or die.

[Liadan] It's late when a small knot of Garou and one Kinfolk return to The Brotherhood of Thieves, bloody and broken and torn. Some more badly damaged than others. Líadan limps along the best she can, unable to put weight to her right foot. There's a mark around her ankle, dark and bluish, a burn that cuts to the bone. She has no room to complain, however. The others are worse. The damage done to them is mostly to their faces, their mouths, their insides.

So Lee does what she can to keep up.

When she eventually makes it into the building, she hangs back, letting the Garou go upstairs first. It will take her some time to follow.

[Roman Turner] He had pulled his hat down low on his head for the long walk to the place. In the light the once white hat looked like someone set it on fire and stomped it out and sure enough, it looked like they put the fire out for good with maybe tomato juice or something from the colors there. He paused behind Liadan to scrape the bottom of his boots off on the edge of the stoop outside before he'd enter the building. And though it went against his grain, he left his hat on for now.

"Miss..er...ma'am?"

The softly spoken awkward words came.

[Victor Oseragighte] Victor is settled in the center of the common room, eyes closed. He still needed an offering to Maelstrom, and still had not found anything he considered proper. Worth offering. He rolls this thought over in his head, along with possibilities, of which he has very few presently.

More, his hunt for Adrian's attackers had thus far proven fruitless. So much to do, so little time, and he'd only been in the city less than a month.

[Ezra Turk] *Rat. tat-tat-tat-tat. The incessant rhythm of bony fingers sound on aluminum as the Shadowlord makes his way down the hall to the common room. Ezra looking up from his cola as he enters, twisting to watch as garou make their way torn and battered up the stairs. A sharks grin spreading like honey across too sharp, unflattering vulpine features.*

[Robbie Murdoch] They're a pretty sorry sight, the small cadre of Garou and one kin retreating -- because it was a retreat at the end, chaotic, frantic, harried by hounds and all manner of monstrosities -- from that hellish carnival. Some are more injured than others. Robbie would be one of them. His face is a ravaged mess, raw meat and seared flesh, one eye either swollen shut or enucleated -- it's hard to tell for all the blood. He's unsteady on his feet, his step stumbling and weaving. The one good eye burns with a lunatic intensity, snapping with rage and a sort of desperate determination.

It's late enough that they didn't run into many people. A bum that took one look at them and hid his face, shaking. A baglady that dropped her shopping cart and ran away howling.

Now they're back, and the Brotherhood is blessedly cool after the deep humid heat of a chicago summer. Roman speaks to Liadan. Robbie barely hears, his awareness a throbbing sea of haze and pain. He's two steps up the stairs when he stops, half turning, waving the others after him.

"Mnh-nh." A broken jaw makes it hard to talk. The intonation is clear, though: come on.

[Roman Turner] He hadn't seen himself yet, though he felt like he'd gone to the rodeo and been used as a roping calf. Worn out, tender and he kept making a face like he'd licked a cat and the hairs were stuck to his tongue. Truth was, all he could taste and all he could smell was human bacon fat. And so he was dragging along behind Liadan, trying to communicate something to her. Something was brewing under that hat of his.

"Coming."

He assured Robbie as he offered Liadan a hand up the stairs.

[Liadan] Lee makes it to the big wooden table before the fireplace, stands with her hand flat on its top. Balancing herself on one foot, her other leg bent, the toe of her Chuck Taylor shoe barely making contact with the kitchen floor. Roman speaks to her, Robbie mumbles something, but his intention is clear enough. Lee looks up at him, where he's stopped on the stairs. She looks at him with clear, dark eyes. The ruin of his face would turn the stomach of most women, but then, Lee looked at a vampire boy, his chest cut open and his heart exposed, as if he were nothing more than a Biology experiment.

A corner of her mouth quirks, and she nods to the Galliard. That was the plan.

Turning back to Roman, she doesn't flinch at the sight of him, either. "Yeah?"

But his intention is clear, also. She stares at the offered hand for a moment, looking at it like she'd never seen one before. Only for a moment. Nodding her gratitude, she accepts. She places her free hand on the railing, uses the young Ragabash as a support, and she hops, wobbles, stumbles up the stairs after the Galliard.

"Thanks," she says. At the top of the stairs, she settles herself on the edge of the piano bench, turned away from the instrument. She has no intention of playing it tonight. She just needs a moment to catch her breath, regain her strength, before she tries to get to room 7.

There's a man in the center of the room, and another entering from the hall. Lee looks from one, to the other, uncertainly. Then, tugging her long red hair free of an already loosened elastic band, she just says, "Hello."

[Ruarc o'Conaill] The young man stopped outside the building, looking up at it. So this was the Brotherhood if Thieves. It made his lips curve into a slight smile. Might seem a little strange, that name, but it seemed to fit the Rover’s mood well enough. He hefted the large bag over his shoulder and headed in, looking around . One hand coming up to run over his scalp. His hair is cropped short, sides shaved, giving him a short Mohican hairstyle. Eyes with the color of stormy grey and blue, alert and curious.

His clothes are simple enough. Jeans worn from wear and tear, boots that had once possibly been light brown, but were now a darker hue of earth and dirt. A short sleeved shirt, clean but worn. Tattoos peeking out beneath the shirt sleeves, monochrome tribal’s, mostly hidden under that shirt.

He had been told to head upstairs where there would be some sort of gathering room and bedrooms that would accommodate garou without their own lodgings. The fianna full-moon looked up the stairs, then with a shrug of his shoulders headed up, drawn by the low murmur of voices that drifted down. He takes the steps two at a time until he crests the top, looking around the common room, his gaze quickly falling on the ragged group with their grevious wounds.

“Well, it seem’s ive found th’ right place. Ye be a weary lookin bunch down on ye’s fortune, aint ye?”
His accent is thick, definitely not native to these shores. He runs a hand over his scalp again.

“Tis be th’ brotherhood o’ Thieves?”

[Roman Turner] He did more than give her his hand. Roman braced Liadan and reached deep down inside himself where his last reserves rest. He wasn't very good at this. In fact, mostly he sucked at it. Still he tried.

*Mother's Touch*
Dice Rolled:[ 2 d10 ] 2, 4 (Success x 1 at target 6) [WP]

[Roman Turner] ((Maybe she can have a little relief))
to Liadan

[Victor Oseragighte] He turns as he hears people entering. His own thoughts will have to keep for another time apparently, judging from what he hears; healthy people don't move like that. He waits, turning more fully to rise from his seat, drawing fingers through his hair absently. "Need any help?"

[Ezra Turk] *Rat. Dark eyes slide to the native sitting in the middle of the commons. Tat-tat- Ezra tongues his teeth and takes a long sip of cola, watching the mangled fianna and Roman as they troop up the stairs. Tat-tat. A sharp, impressed whistle at the state of the motley crew.*

This is the Brotherhood... Seems we've got all sorts of strays, mmmm?

*A voice like that should be reserved for horror movies. A whiskey tenor strained through broken glass. Cheshire grin getting wider.*

[Victor Oseragighte] His own voice is soft, calm, tinged with a curious accent, Quebecois smoothed by travels. Black eyes slide to Erza, then back to the walking wounded.

[Roman Turner] "Right kind of ya to offer."

He touched the brim of that ruined hat in salute to the offer from Victor before he recognized him.

"Vic. I think we can make it."

And up he went, he had a tiny bit left in him and another to share with.

[Robbie Murdoch] Well, they're a match: Ezra's horror movie voice and Robbie's horror movie face. You can almost connect the plot there. Ezra's the villain/monster/antagonist. Robbie's the carved-up victim.

He barely looks at them, though. Ezra, Victor, the newcomer. Friendly, extroverted fellow that he is, the Fianna makes a beeline for the hallway, and from there, his room. They hear him fumbling with the lock before the door swings open and stays ajar.

Springs creak. Zipper hisses. Something crunches, and there's a low, bitten-back grunt.

When he comes back out, Robbie looks a good deal better. He looks human, more or less. They can tell the shape of his face now: long, angular. One eye is still swollen, that entire side of his face bruised and scratched, but -- well. Like we said: he looks human. More or less.

He has two or three little gourds in his hand. Nudging Roman with the back of his knuckles, he passes the Ragabash one.

"There's a carnival in town," he tells the others: short, direct. Not doing his tribe and auspice much pride here. His vowels are flatter than ever right now, his r's steamrolled into ah's: kahnival. "Fomori or something, we never did work it out. Weird shit, really weird shit. Cooked up human meat into this ... this ... blob, this thing. We killed it but everything turned on us and we had to get out. Lot of questions left unanswered. But they're looking to catch themselves a Garou." The tall Galliard shrugs his shoulders: racks of heavy bone on his lanky, lean body. "So. Be careful."

[Victor Oseragighte] Whoa. A carnival did this? And from the sound of things, they had not quite dealt with it fully yet. He mulls this over, considers taking a look himself, investigating surreptitiously. "Fear of clowns," he asks, and there is a faintly teasing tone, but it is also recognizable as a real question, given what they've just been told.

[Ezra Turk] *A half sneer curls Ezra's lip as he looks to Victor. A Francophone and a Wendigo? Ew. His attention drifts to Robbie as the Fianna wanders back from his room, looking slightly more human. Gourds get a raised eyebrow as Ezra rasps tactfully.*

Need a favor, Sheepfucker?

*Long black eyelashes bat in mockery, that devil's grin getting wider. *

[Simon] Simon enters with arms stuffed with the Stuffed animals he had carried from the Carnival, a look of pride on his face. The burn marks on his face and neck showing signs of obvious conflict... He wasn't the prettiest boy around but that would fade soon enough.

He glides into the room with the others and lays his booty out on a table. For the first time getting a chance to examine the toys he won at the carnival. His eyes shift to those gathered but he soon enough tosses up his feet and finally takes the time to relax. The Ahroun didn't appear troubled by his wounds at all. If anything he appeared to be... Comfortable. Seems he's been getting used to this lingering on the edge of death thing it was commonplace for a full moon. It was certainly the stare he spent most of his days in.

[Roman Turner] He waited in the hall while Robbie went off to his room because mostly he was worried about the girl that made him think about the red haired Goddess that would one day see him as more than a kid. When Robbie came back, the brush of knuckles made him bring his attention back to this world and he found himself with a gourd. At the risk of sounding out of his own gourd he added.

"They really want a female Garou, but will take one of you fellas if given the chance. And they got themselves a pink Jabba the Hut that will burn the hell out of ya if it can get hold of ya."

[Liadan] [doot de doo]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 2, 5, 8 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Simon] [Did lee just doot de doo?]
Dice Rolled:[ 3 d10 ] 1, 6, 9 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Ruarc o'Conaill] Ruarc looks around the diverse gathering. Children of Stag, Shadow Lords and a Child of Gaia. He took the time to look at each, gaze lingering for a few moments on the wounded ones, looking over those injuries.
“Right… I don’ rightly know wha’ sort o’ train ye all got hit by, but I thin’ ye would nae be shamed tae call on a crescent tae look ye over.”

The large bag is dropped on the floor with a heavy thud, right next to the stairs. Ruarc moves a little into the room, but still keeps his distance from the others. Then Robbie returns, looking a good deal better. The young Irish glances at him, then to the gourds before looking to the others.
“Aye, I’ll keep tha’ in mind. Seems I’ve found th’ right place then. “

His own skill with healing extends to applying a first aid kit to an open wound, so he does not offer, just watches the wounded and the two others. His gaze drawn to Ezra, brows raising slighty. A hand reaching up to scratch at the thin goatee the young man sports.

[Simon] [Rerolling that with proper dice]
Dice Rolled:[ 1 d10 ] 10 (Success x 1 at target 6)

[Robbie Murdoch] Simon might not mind his wounds, but he gets proffered a healing gourd anyway. He bobs his head a few times in agreement with what Roman says, and then --

and then finds himself blinking once, camera-precise, too surprised by the unexpected slur to be angry. Yet, anyway. The somewhat-less-battered-now Fianna tips his head in quick, feral inquiry. "Come again?" Maybe he heard wrong.

[Victor Oseragighte] The more he heard, the more this sounded... well, mad. Pretty crazy, all told. Just like the Wyrm. He blinks at Simon's entrance. He soon recognizes that Ruarc here is not part of this little party, and nods at his words, walking over. "Probably have. Victor."

He offered his hand, withholding further introductions until the man said more.

[Liadan] When Roman takes her hand and exerts his energies to heal Líadan, her eyes widen. Warmth fills her, a sense of peace. She feels safe, for a moment, protected. There's an image, like there's always an image, a flicker of a memory, gone before it's ever fully formed.

The pain recedes, if just a little. Lee says her thanks and gets up the stairs, to the bench.

And she tries to ignore the swirl of rage filling the room, that stiffens her shoulders and sets her teeth on edge. She'll never get used to it, but she can try not to show it. Lee crosses her legs, right leg over left knee, and looks at the damage finally. All things considered, it's not bad.

They tease, and they call names. Lee's hands clench briefly where she runs them through her hair to straighten it. Blood rushes to her face, splotching angrily in her cheeks. She manages to tie her hair back again, though her fingers are stiff, her movements jerky. She pushes herself to her feet. Her limp is reduced, but still there, still evident in the way she step-hop, step-hops, but it's less pronounced.

"Excuse me," she mutters to the room at large. She heads for the hallway leading to the bedrooms. When she passes Roman, she hesitates. "Thanks," she says again, filling it with all the warmth and gratitude she can muster. It's not a lot. She's tired, she's wounded, and she can feel an anger she still doesn't quite know how to deal with working its way into her face.

And she leaves, dark eyes darting to Robbie briefly before she looks away. After a while, they may hear the shower in the bathroom. They may hear the door to room 7 open and then close. But Lee does not return to the common room.

[sorry guys, can't keep up! Lee's out!]

[Ezra Turk] *Bushy black eyebrows dance towards the shadowlord's hairline, Ezra's chin tilted down as he looks up to Robbie. Fingers flutter as though he's marking out syllables. Rasping more sloooowly.*

I don't have all day Rainman. Do you want... healing?

*Wild eyes flick to Simon with a predatory gleam. Ezra's mouth falling open a moment as though tasting the air around his fellow tribesman. Strange.*

[Ruarc o'Conaill] It takes a little effort to look away from Ezra and Robbie who the shadow lord addressed, but Victors approach does finally stir the man, and he looks to the other, offering a small smile. He takes the others hand, shaking it.
“ ’ello Victor. Name’s Ruarc, Full moon o’ the Stag. Sae did I walk into a disaster, or is this on par for a nite then?”

His stormy gaze on the Wendigo, taking him in for a brief moment, before he looks back to Ezra and Robbie, releasing the others hand.

[Roman Turner] He cradled the little gourd, not entirely sure how it was used or what for. Though at the moment most of his attention was on Ezra.

"I believe the man is a breeder of livestock. Sheep seem to be his trade. Though apparently his ma and pa didn't teach him proper language to use in mixed company. See it all the time anymore. Folk got no self respect."

He murmured to Robbie and then when Liadan went to her room he was sure she had run off out of embarrassment over the use of the F word.

[Robbie Murdoch] The Fianna has the sort of face one might kindly term honest; and less kindly, but more honestly, term plain. Everything about him is lean, bony, long: his limbs, his nose, his fingers, his face. It seems in all that spareness there's no room for deceit or disguise. Emotion flickers clearly over his face -- a spasm of anger, grudgingly bit back.

Roman's words of support, such as they were, make him glance briefly in the Ragabash's direction. They ultimately do little to ease the discomfort and displeasure all too clearly marking the Fianna's face.

"Thanks for the offer," he says stiffly, "but I got my own."

[Victor Oseragighte] He watched Lee leave and frowned a little, wondering if he should check in on her perhaps. But he had this newcomer to greet, himself recently arrived. "Half Moon of Wendigo," he answers, then chuckles at that irreverent question. "Same old, same old."

His grip was solid, strong, but not at all testing; no need for that to his mind. That's how he comes across in general, solid, stable, and yet with a strangely intangible quality that should be at odds with this but isn't.

[Ezra Turk] *A snicker seems all Ezra's response, finishing his cola and heading down the stairs.*

[too many people! catch you later]

[Ruarc o'Conaill] ”Aye. Seems i’m defintly in th’ right place then. I heard there might be room fer a newcomer here in th’ Brotherhood?”

He looks away from Ezra as he leaves, back to Victor, fixing stormy gaze on the man.
“Unpleasant fella, tha’ one. “

[Simon] Simon was quick to make use of his gourd and with his focus and concentration his wounds faded completely. Pain might be something he could tolerate but it wasn't something he would tolerate if he didn't need to.

His eyes scanned the room, curious and friendly despite the fact he just had his face melted off in battle. The wounds were gone and all was right with the world. His eyes almost looked hopeful as he searched the faces in the room though a slight look of disappointment might have appeared on his face when he realized who all was present. Not that he minded anyone here... Cept maybe Ezra. He was more looking for someone in particular.

Simon was being quiet right now. He had just healed and now was a time for reflection and enjoyment. He pulled the largest of his stuffed animals closer and eyes it curiously."What should your name be my good sir?"

[Roman Turner] The rude guy got up, took off and after a moment Roman blessed Robbie with the biggest smile he could muster considering his face looked like someone had danced on it tonight.

"He Baaaa. Had Baaaaa. A Baaaa call to Baaaa make."

"Maybe he was sheepish?"

"Ewe all come back now, hear?"

[Victor Oseragighte] "Yup." The answer might have been to the Ruarc's question or comment. As it happened, it was to both. He smiles despite himself as Roman starts to tease Robbie, but answers the Ahroun, adding further, "talk to the owners. Some rooms empty. Just moved in myself."

[Robbie Murdoch] The sudden smirking departure of the Shadow Lord -- the other Shadow Lord -- seems to leave Robbie briefly at a loss. There's a pause; then he answers Ruarc, or maybe Roman. "However he decided to phrase it, he was offering me healing. He didn't have to do that." There's seems to be more to say, a conclusion to be drawn, but Robbie doesn't know what it is. He ends on a shrug, faintly awkward.

[Roman Turner] "Well then, we each choose our own level of water to stand in, don't we? I try to make sure it don't come up over the top of my hip waders, if ya know what I mean."

He touched the brim of his hat with a little nod to Robbie.

"Simon, y'all enjoy them trophies, they were hard earned and ya done yourself proud, though being as where we came from, I'd ask a friend to make sure all is right with the world before I put them where I sleep."

He held up the little gourd again with a nod of thanks to Robbie before moving off to give the guy space. Tribe was Tribe he supposed and he said all he was going to.

[Ruarc o'Conaill] ”Aye, as ye say lad... He offered ye healin. Still an unpleasant way o’ goin about it.”
He shrugs his shoulders, looking around the room again.

“Owners… I’ll look em up fer sure. Is it open tae all o’ our kind then? ‘s got a wee one comin tae th’ city as well in th’ next few days.”
He ran his hand over his scalp again, his eyes falling on the piano. It makes his lips curve up slightly more, and he seems to consider something for a moment before looking back to the gathered Garou.
“An’ if ye could point meh tae the elder o’ the Stag, I would be grateful tae ye. Introduction tae be made ‘n all.”

[Victor Oseragighte] "Far as I know. They'll as you to do some work." His tone says he considers this a pretty fair trade, too. At the request for the Fianna elder, though, he can only shrug and gesture around the room with one hand.

[Danicka Musil] High heels tap neatly on the narrow wooden steps from the ground-floor kitchen to the second-floor common room, light enough to indicate the general size of the wearer. She's not very tall. She's not petite, either. She's more 'thin' than 'slender', if one makes draws such lines between nuances. And when she comes into sight around the corner, one could easily mistake her for a Silver Fang: her hair is the sort of blonde most often compared to gold, and her eyes -- while not the iced azure of some of Falcon's -- are a pale green, flecked with bits of amber and blue.

But no one in here is going to mistake her for one of the Silver Fangs. Even before her footsteps touch their ears they know what she is, and to what tribe she belongs. The tribe that, traditionally, most often views their Kin as belongings. The tribe that, traditionally, raises and keeps their kin in such a way that explains why the blonde woman stops short upon seeing four utter strangers and one barely-known Ahroun sitting in the common room.

It's like walking out of an air-conditioned building and into a heat wave. In August. In Louisiana. It makes her hold onto the latest inhale of breath for a second before she lets it go. It's rage, and she knows it, and her pupils constrict slightly with the sort of primal fear that can't be faked. Not that physical reaction. Not that well.

She's dressed in a pretty little green and white sundress, and her strappy heels are a subdued brass color. Her pedicure, like her manicure, is a simple clear gloss. French tips. In her lobes are little gold hoops from which tiny baubles dangle and catch the light. Her hair is windswept, quite deliberately so.

And she's carrying a very nice handbag.

And she's also carrying a wireless router.

"Hello," she says simply, and politely, to the lot of them, and begins making her way as unobtrusively as possible over to the little desk against the wall where an aging laptop sits.

[Simon] He slips his hands behind his head."Robbie was it?"He asks before glancing in the direction of the Fianna. A smile lifting on his lips and he tilts his head a little showing a hint of curiosity. He was relaxed and comfortable and took the time to size the Fianna up for a moment or two while leaning back in his chair.

[Roman Turner] He was beat, battered and doing his best to resist the urge to remove his hat indoors. Instead he used the downwards curled brim of the once white stetson for a shadow caster to hide some of the damage his face had seen that night. When the woman walked in, he stood there with his mouth gaping for several long moments. It was true as could be and he would tell Sparrow once more that there was a law in the city that required every kin that entered be beautiful and highly bred. He was sure it had to be some law. Wait till he called home with this one, his pa was gonna threaten to come up and box his ears for making up tales again. Then he would personally show his pa the truth of the matter.

[Robbie Murdoch] Not only four strangers, but three of them varying shades of Fucked Up. A few moments ago, Robbie was easily the worst of the lot. Right now, Roman might take that prize. It's hard to say. Robbie is the one that stares at the newcomer, puzzled by her existence and her attire and her beeline toward the little desk with the old laptop.

He tears his attention back long enough to say to Ruarc, "I only met one other Fiann in this city and she was a sinborn." There's a world of ancient bigotry in that one word, and it's the most insidious sort: the sort so deeply engrained that Robbie doesn't even recognize it anymore. The conclusion is simple and already drawn. Sinborn. So she can never, ever lead the tribe.

Pure of body, pure of spirit.

"There was a Fostern but Liadan" he jerks his big bony thumb in the direction of ... wherever it is Lee went, "says he's traveling."

He nods at Simon, then. "Yeah. Robbie Murdoch. Record of Ruin -- hey!" That's calling to Danicka now, who's all the way over by the desk. "Hey, that's our computer. Do ya live here?"

[Ruarc o'Conaill] ”Thank ye Victor.”
Offered to the man with a warm sort of smile. His attention soon drawn to the woman that enters, fixing stormy gaze on her. No secret which tribes she belongs to. It makes Ruarc wonder idly how big of a presence the Shadow had in this sept. But he tips his head to Danicka as she speaks.
“ ‘ello lass.”

There is appreciation in his gaze, and the young fianna has only a little trouble to tear it away from the woman as she moves, looking to Robbie. He considers the other for a few moments before nodding.
“Aye. Thank ye.”


He reaches down, grabbing his bag and straightens up. His gaze going once more to Danicka as she heads for the computer and Robbie challenges her presence. Another thing to keep in mind.
“I’ll be seein ye, no doubt.”

And with that, the young fianna turns and heads down the stairs to find the owners. Come morning, Room 10 will be occupied by Ruarc, the spare bed claimed by an as of yet to arrive fianna, or so the note on it says. ‘Taken by a child of Stag’

((Sorry guys, 6 am, and I am falling asleep on my keyboard! thanks for the scene!))

[Robbie Murdoch] [night man!]

[Danicka Musil] Whatever was wrong with the faces of three of them, Danicka didn't linger long looking at them. She may not have even noticed; she didn't look anyone in the eye. She didn't meet their gazes for so much as a half-second. Perhaps she was raised no to stare. Or not to comment on the various shades of Fucked Up one sees.

She was, however, apparently raised to stop dead still when a Garou yells hey! at her. Which is what happens, and what she does, in the middle of setting down her bag in the computer desk's chair and the router on top of the desk itself. She turns slowly, going from motionless to gently turning, rather than startling suddenly.

Her eyelashes slide closed, then open. She looks at Robbie, a flick of her gaze to his eyes, then away again. "I know it's yours," she says mildly. "I donated it. And no, I live several blocks from here, actually."

[Victor Oseragighte] While he's playing host to Ruarc, he's keeping a watch on Robbie; the man's bloodlust was not forgotten. A smiling nod was given to Ruarc, and he turned his attention finally to the newest face to enter. When Robbie shouts at her, he tenses, waiting. This could be a confrontation in the offing, but he cannot yet tell which way it will wind. His reaction, though, is there, evident in his body language, his sudden readyness.

[Robbie Murdoch] Robbie's developing something of a reputation in this Sept. Strange thing is, that reputation would be different depending on who you asked. Victor remembers him bloodthirsty and savage, utterly vicious, utterly fearless. Yet just a moment ago he was turning the proverbial other cheek to a Shadow Lord's barbed offering of aid. There's something almost awkward and ungainly about his demeanor, something equal parts protective and uncertain in his challenge to the Shadow Lord kinswoman over the laptop that was,

as it turns out,

hers to begin with.

Robbie's face, bruised and sunburnt as it is, is nevertheless fair enough to show the flush of color in his cheeks. "Oh." He shifts, foot to foot. There's this to say, yet another conflicting jag in the puzzle: whatever uncertainty of manner, his physical presence is unshakably certain. Feral grace etches every motion, makes him move smooth as silk. "Didn't realize. Sorry. Thanks." He looks at Victor for help.

[Simon] Danicka walked past and the eyes of the young Full Moon follow the woman. She was lovely to behold, a gorgeous creature who filled young men's thoughts with all manner of wicked images though he didn't appear to have any of those shifting through his head instead he was just watching and perhaps seeking to remain under her Radar. She was Lukas' woman and so long as there wasn't any trouble he wasn't going to make any with the Ranking Ahroun's mate.

"Simon Zahradnik, Bone Grinder... Cliath, Fullmoon and Grandchild of Thunder."He says with a swift nod of his head before smiling a little at the response from Danicka. When she was done explaining to Robbie he chuckled a little then settled back.

"Assumptions make asses of you and me Robbie but don't worry about it we make names in our own little ways."

[Victor Oseragighte] That look surprises him, but he inserts himself into it, covering for the Fianna's sudden chagrine as he took several steps across the room and nodded to the Shadow Lord. "New here. Victor Oseragighte. Ken'tarakonha:ka. Swallow, in English. Half-moon of the Wendigo. Cliath."

A full introduction, to catch her attention entirely, yet still deliverered in his typical terse, brief manner. It was less that he was uncomfortable with words than that he preferred actions to them. Victor looks pretty average in terms of his clothes; hard-toed boots, a gray and red polo shirt, brown dungarees.

[Robbie Murdoch] For that little adage, Simon just gets a stormy glance from Robbie. "Thanks," he mutters again. This time he sounds like he means it a little less.

[Danicka Musil] [*kicks jove*]

[Roman Turner] He broke out of the daze he'd gotten caught in and without another stammer or anything, edged off on down the stairs and out the door to find his way home.

[Danicka Musil] "You're welcome," Danicka says calmly to Robbie's uncomfortable Thanks, as though she doesn't notice that discomfort or his shifting. She seems fully prepared to settle down and set up the router, but then Victor is walking over and introducing himself. She blinks, and looks up from the beginning of her work, glancing him over once.

"Dani&+269;ka Musil," she says, and that is where it's left. If he's Garou, he knows her tribe. If he's not a Shadow Lord or an Ahroun or from New York, he doesn't know her relations. The pronunciation is soft, the way she says her own name slightly slurred and difficult to imitate perfectly. More than likely it will come back to her as Dahnichka, which is close enough for most, and not something she'll correct.

"May I call you Victor, then?" she asks, her eyes flicking over at Simon as he quips to Robbie, then looking back to the Wendigo.

[Victor Oseragighte] Huh. Had he misjudged her? It was possible. In fact, it seemed that he had. He'd read her as Garou initially, with her poise and all, but now he saw otherwise. The smile he offers at her question is a warm one, and he simply nods his head. "Sure."

[Robbie Murdoch] [i gotta make a call, guys! i'll try to be quick.]

[Danicka Musil] Absolutely no part of Danicka's experience gives her the necessary information to assume that Victor thought she was Garou based solely on her calm dealing with the near-barking Robbie. She looks at the Wendigo and notes that he takes pause at her name, that he seems vaguely surprised, but she does not know why, and she doesn't look too deeply. She tips her head to the side at his warm smile, blinks once, and then turns back to setting up the router. "This should make it more reliable and a little faster," she says, perhaps to the room at large, or whoever uses it. "Jenny said it was dropping a lot."

[Victor Oseragighte] It did not much matter to him, so he had to assume that she was talking to Robbie, despite the general attitude of her declaration. He does take a brief glance around, then moves in to peek, not overly familiar with such tech himself, never having found an interest really.

[Liadan] A brief shower has calmed the Fianna kinswoman. The water washed away the smell of the carnival and the battle there, of dirt and blood and strange foods. Standing in the stall, Lee braced her hands against the tiled wall and eased her weight onto her right foot. She examined the pain that blossomed from her ankle, lessened thanks to the healing of the young Ragabash. It wasn't so bad, not as bad as some of the injuries she's received in the past year. She'll live.

Now, cleaned up, she had intended to spend the rest of the night in room 7, playing on her own laptop and waiting for morning or sleep, whichever came first. But her stomach reminds her that she hasn't eaten in many hours. She hadn't gotten to eat anything at the carnival, after all. She'd been on the alert as soon as she walked through the gate, wouldn't have eaten the food there on pain of imminent starvation.

It's her hunger that draws her out, her still-wet hair brushed back from her face. She's changed into the spare clothes she left in the room for nights like this. A brown t-shirt and blue pajama shorts. The color matches the image on her shirt, a man destroying buildings with the words I'm Huge In Japan in big block letters beneath it. She had hoped that in the time she was gone the crowd in the common room had left. Mostly, the ones who tried to tease and taunt the Fianna, especially the weird little man who directly - in Lee's mind - insulted the Galliard.

She stops in the doorway from the bedrooms, looking at who is left, and she notes that the crowd is still there, the parts are just different. And there is Danicka. The last time they met, the circumstances were less than fabulous, ending with a stay in the hospital for Lee. She's always getting hurt, it seems. Even now, she limps into view, the burn wrapped around her right ankle clearly visible. She leans against the door frame, taking the weight off her leg again.

"Hey, V. Oh, you're fixing the router?"

[Simon] Simon settles back in his chair, his eyes closing as he leans back in his chair. THe full moon had just come back from a successful battle and there always seemed to be a euphoric glow around him after each time he killed something. Satisfaction was a hard thing to come by, rage was a powerful thing and it wouldn't be hours before it was eating away at his skull and had the hair on the back of his neck on edge. It was pleasant to see the Full Moon was in that curious little state... Genuine smile upon his face.

"You would think after a successful battle there would be a little more celebrating. Fighting, boasting, whooping and shouting."He opens his eyes and looks at Robbie."I thought this was what you Fianna did best."

[Danicka Musil] "No, just adding one down here," she says, without looking up. The way the two women speak to each other makes it sound like they're both here all the time, see each other every day. "It's been using the one on the third floor all this time, and apparently the connection is nigh unto worthless."

She glances over her shoulder as Simon speaks, then over at Lee. "Battle?"

[Victor Oseragighte] He turns his head at the reappearance of Liadan; a shower seems to have done her wonders. Even so, he nods and waits a beat before asking, "you alright?" Simon is spared a glance, and he wonders if it WAS a successful battle. To hear it, it sounded more like survival, but then he had not heard the full tale by far.

[Liadan] "Ah, makes sense," she says to the router and technology.

She pushes off from the door and hobbles toward the stairs. There, she pauses. She looks at Simon first, sitting in his chair, wanting more of a celebration, then at Victor, who inquires to her state. Lee just shrugs. "I've been worse," is all she has to say to that, dismissing the pain in her ankle. "There was a carnival," she says, mostly for Danicka. "And fomori, I think. They wanted to keep the Garou. I'm going down for a beer, does anyone else want one?"

She looks around the room, expectantly.

[Danicka Musil] It isn't the Ahroun who answers, or even the Galliard, but Lee herself. "Ah," is all Danicka seems to have to say to that, looking back down at the router. No one is talking about burials or pyres; she doesn't ask if everyone survived. She shakes her head and adds "No, thanks," to the Fianna kinswoman, and leans back over the computer, sitting down now in the desk chair.

[Simon] Liadan's offer gets his eye to open and he shakes his head slowly."Sorry... Not quite in that zone just yet."He says before turning his attention to the wound on her leg."Jesus Christ hasn't anyone fuckin' fixed that leg for you already?"He asks before reaching out and grabbing the Unicorn and tossing it in Liadan's direction."Catch!"He says with a grin back to her. The unicorn wasn't the Biggest and wasn't the best but it was the second to largest of his prizes and some part of him felt the Kin deserved a reward.

"Might not look like much but remember we killed to bring that shit home with us... Not to mention..."He points at her leg."Whenever you see a Cresent moon in here have him take care of your leg and if he doesn't tell me and I will kick his ass until he does. No reason our kin should have to limp around like little weaklings because we weren't capable of defending them."He says with a tone of annoyance in his voice. He wasn't a healer he was the exact opposite but he was a soldier and Liadan, while not a garou, fought her lovely little tush off right beside the garou and that makes her a soldier too.

"Wait scratch that..."He looks up and his eyes go to Victor."Victor... Get Liadan a beer will ya? Girl deserves one."He then points at Liadan and smiles."Sit your ass down and for fucks sake put that foot up!" That WAS an order.

[Victor Oseragighte] The limping did not go amiss by him either, and he nodded simply to Simon, heading for the door. He paused to place a hand on Lee's shoulder, looking her in the eyes as he did so. "Sit. I'll get it. Want anything else?" He pushed her gently back into the room, toward Simon, but stood in the door awaiting her answer.

[Robbie Murdoch] Robbie's quiet for a while. He's frowning thoughtfully at the router and its little blinking lights. It's several moments after Simon asks about Fianna, about celebration, that he looks back at the Shadow Lord.

And his frown deepens a little. "We didn't really succeed," he points out. "We killed one thing. The M.C. got away. And we got chased out by freaks and dogs. Anyway," another shrug, "I'm not exactly a posterboy for my tribe."

[Liadan] Lee stops at the top of the stairs and essentially prepares to act as a waitress for the group, prepared to take orders and head down and bring them back, injured ankle be damned. Instead, she finds a stuffed unicorn tossed her way. Startled, she reaches to catch it, fumbles a little before closing her hands over the little plush toy. It doesn't matter that it's not the biggest, or the best, or that it's a unicorn and not actually a mythical creature Líadan ever dreamed about as a little girl. When she has it safely in her grasp, a corner of her mouth twitches, a smile flickering briefly.

There's more, though. More demands for her, but none that include a trip to the kitchens. In fact, she's ordered to take a seat and put her foot up, kick back and relax. The Wendigo places a heavy hand on her shoulder, and she looks at him as if he's just started speaking his native language at her. She starts to shake her head, but her stomach betrays her, growls a protest.

"Ah." Color races up her pale throat and into her face, helped along by the words of the Ahroun. "Food would be nice. I...no preference," she says, and she makes her way to the sectional sofa. "You got those shadows, too," she reminds Robbie, easing into a corner of the couch. Dutifully, she turns so that her legs are stretched out before her. The Ahroun may consider her a soldier, a warrior of a weaker class than their own, but Lee doesn't include herself in that group.

[Simon] He shrugs his shoulders and looks back at Robbie."We went into a situation completely oblivious to the fact that each and every one of us was walking right into a trap. Honest truth here is Robbie we should be dead. We were in their trap they knew what we were and they had every advantage..."He says with a shrug of his shoulders."Our quick wits and strength prevailed in a situation where we should by all rights be dead right? That is as much a Victory as killing a pack of Spiral Dancers. I mean... We don't always get to walk away from a clean cut victory. Every time we kill an enemy we are killing someone who was once uncorrupted... Someone we failed to protect before they fell. Every dancer we kill is another baby born into a world who didn't have a chance at a normal life and if he tried he was killed at a young age."He smiles a little."Bitter sweet or not we are alive to fight another day."Speeches were something he could do maybe not as well as a galliard but that particular galliard didn't look in the mood to do any motivational speeches.

"Every day we go without another death is another victory for us... We're fighting a war of attrition after all, with the numbers we're facing one hundred of them could fall for every one of us and they would still be winning."He smiles."But when we choose not to die... THAT is hitting them where it hurts. Don't get me wrong I respect all those who have died before me but the best possible thing I could EVER do to honor their Memory is keep myself... And all the people here who they love alive. That is how we honor the fallen. We live. Am I right?"

He followed Liadan as she found herself a seat then leaned back in his chair and grinned just a little. Victor didn't seem to mind helping out and that was good he didn't wanna have to wait on a kin tonight after nearly getting himself killed too!

[Victor Oseragighte] "And you came back to sound the call," he notes, adding that single point to Simon's soliloquy, figuring he'd said most everything else on that subject. He nodded then to Lee and was out the door, heading downstairs toward the kitchen at a brisk pace.

[Robbie Murdoch] Robbie doesn't look entirely convinced. He's still frowning a little, and his pale eyes, as much grey as green, flick from kin to ahroun to philodox. As Victor disappears down the stairs, the galliard shrugs yet again, a motion that seems to come easily to him -- a holding pattern of sorts.

"That's probably one way to look at it," he concedes, and finally takes a seat on the couch. One hand rubs absently at the bruise on his cheek, and then he turns his attention to the kin of his tribe. "Do you want me to smack a gourd on that, or are ya good?"

[Simon] He shrugs his shoulders and leans back again."Strength is a measure of a mans successes not his defeats. Though I suppose the Fianna might see it differently."He concedes but smiles a little to himself before looking in Liadan's direction."Do the Fianna always pout this much or is this one of those isolated cases?"He asks her in a teasing tone. Oh he knew about the fiery Fianna temper but he wasn't exactly to stoke it a little especially when someone is being so pouty.

"You need a puppy? Would that cheer you up?"He asks as he lifts his stuffed puppy and dangles it out in front of the table as if implying Robbie can have it if it will cheer him up.

[Danicka Musil] All this while, Danicka's been working rather quietly. She is uninjured, so she requires no gourd or unicorn or... whatever it is they have. She does not ask many q

[Danicka Musil] [Fuck you, jove.]

[Robbie Murdoch] [LOL.]

[Liadan] "I wouldn't know," Lee answers Simon, but her gaze is on her ankle. The burn is better than it was. In a few days it will stop hurting. It'll take longer for the damage to her skin to recede, for the scar to begin to fade. "I haven't known a lot of Fianna. I think it'll be okay." She grins, though, that lopsided smile. She knows that when he says he'll smack a gourd on, he's not speaking figuratively.

[Victor Oseragighte] Downstairs he pauses to collect a tray first, then goes hunting. A bit for himself, several beers... he works as swiftly as he can, gathering a fair meal for her and a few tidbits for anybody else who might want something.

[Robbie Murdoch] The breath Robbie takes and releases is faintly irritated, though he does his best to disguise that. His best isn't very good. His eyes flash Simon's way, then away.

"I'm not pouting," he says. "It just bothers me that we know next to nothing about these people but they clearly know about us. And they had the numbers to drive us helter-skelter from their little playground. Their playground, lemme add, in which I don't think we saw a single normal human being. But it couldn't have been some sorta umbral realm either because she was there," he jerks his head toward Liadan.

"So what we got is ... some sorta mousetrap for Garou. And maybe for other supernaturals too. Didn't they promise a vampire? Something like that? Who are these people? What do they want? We know nothing. We almost died and we come out with nothing."

There's that Fianna temper after all. As though surprised at himself, Robbie's mouth snaps shut. He rubs a hand over his face, winces faintly at the ache in the bones, the discomfort, like a bad sunburn, in his skin.

"I don't believe that doesn't bother you at all," he adds, quieter.

[Danicka Musil] All this time, Danicka has been quietly at work on the router and laptop. She has not looked up for discussions of healings or beers or what Kinfolk do. She has not responded to any soliloquys or even stared pointedly at anyone. Her eyes and her attention are on her work, until she finishes it. It does not take very long. She gathers her bag but carries it in her hand rather than putting it over her shoulder. Walking around the couch, she goes to sit -- perhaps interestingly enough -- nearest to Simon.

Then again, he is her tribesmate. Quietly, she says to him: "Ona to moje kamarádka. Je nutné dráždit a urážet jejich kmene?"

[Victor Oseragighte] They can hear him on the steps before they see him, carrying a tray heavily-laden. He keeps it perfectly level as he ferries it in and sets it down beside Lee. On it are five bottles of beer, a plate with several cold cuts for him, which he sets aside, a sandwich made with some of those same cold cuts and some cheese, tomato, and mayo for Lee, a larger plate with several cut sandwiches of the same makeup, a bowl of pudding, also for Lee, a few brownies, two glasses of water and two of lemonade. He claims his cold cuts and a bottle of beer and gestures to the tray for anybody else to claim what they wanted, finding himself a seat.

[Simon] He nods his head back at the man."You're right... It bugs the fuck outta me that shit like this is out there. But it's just one of countless others I guess. We'll put out the word, and sooner or later they will show up in another town... And another and another... But eventually we will find them and because we lived to carry the message that these fuckers are out there the other Garou can be made aware of this carnival. Sooner or later they will show up in the wrong town and they will be destroyed. Maybe by us maybe by someone else... But if we had died no one would have known what happened. No one would know where to look or what to do to avenge our deaths right?"He asks the man curiously."Sometimes intelligence is more valuable than the act of destroying your enemies in battle."He still holds out that toy."You want your puppy or not?"He asks with a tilt of his head."Cause you know... We killed for these things!"He adds with a little laugh.

He stiffens when Danicka addresses him. The language was not his first but he recognized it and he looked like a child who had just been caught with his hand in the Candy jar. That is what Danicka reminded him of! His MOTHER! That is why he found himself trembling in her presence like a scared little pup.

"Ona a její kmen mate riskovali své životy vedle m&+283;. Ujiš&+357;uji vás, že nemám nic, ale velkou úctou k jejich."He says back to Danicka with a smile on his face, though there was a slight look of concern still there. Quite honestly the kin scared him a little, though much of that had a lot to do with who she was.

[Danicka Musil] There's no way Danicka could know that Simon is reminded of his mother when dealing with her. She speaks in Czech with the fluent fluidity of being brought up with it, the sort of nuanced grasp of the language that no student will ever achieve. But she can see how he is reacting to her, even if she doesn't know why. And she sits neatly beside him, her hands on her lap, her legs crossed at the ankles, and she considers him quietly for a moment.

Her voice gentles, and murmurs rather than orders, advises rather than cautions: "Pak to najevo. To muž nenalezne vaše komentá&+345;e zábavné."

She reaches over and pats Simon twice on the knee before rising, looking at Robbie and Liadan. "I am glad you are both safe. The computer should work faster now, and Jenny can always get in touch with me if there's any trouble with it. Have a good evening." She smiles to them -- and to Victor, too, before shouldering her bag and turning to go.

[Robbie Murdoch] The Shadow Lords converse in a language Robbie does not understand, and this rankles him. Oddly, it seems to rankle him more than being called a sheepfucker had; more than being called Rain Man had; more than the halfhearted debate/argument with Simon is. He has no idea what they're saying. Simon's tone to Danicka has gone quiet, and if Robbie were paying more attention he might call it respectful; but Danicka's tone is nothing but gentle. It's impossible for him to glean the meaning of their conversation, or to even begin guessing at its topic, its content.

The Fianna shifts in his seat, jaw squaring as it tightens, a bolt of muscle standing out in his cheek. He answers Simon, which is the only thing he can answer, but there's a certain rigidity to his tone that suggests deliberate focus.

"I'm not saying I wanna go back in and kill or die. I just don't really feel like celebrating right now because I got too many unanswered questions in my head." The puppy waggles over the coffee table, and Robb's lips tighten another notch, and he determinedly ignores it. "I'm killing ya buzz here though. I'm gonna go catch some sleep."

He ends up rising just as Danicka does. That puts a rare hitch in the Fianna's motion. He stares at her as she wishes them both a good night. The smile results in a faintly puzzled stitch in his brow. She turns to go -- when she's halfway down the stairs he says, belatedly, "Thanks, bye."

[Liadan] Lee's smile is renewed when Victor comes back up the stairs with a tray laden with food. Her first thought is that all of that is for her, and she honestly can't begin to comprehend why he would bring her so much food. When she realizes it's not, that only a small, manageable portion is hers, she feels...relief. Her thought isn't Of course, but Oh thank god. She doesn't say this, though, not out loud. Out loud, she thanks Victor.

She shifts on the couch, dropping her legs momentarily so that she can pick another sandwich from the tray. This, she offers to Robbie, her hand hovering near the drinks, watching him for a sign of which to get for him. It's natural, this bit of helpfulness to a tribesman. There was a time when it manifested mostly in her choice of liquors, bottles of Reuben's finest beer for her tribe, and whatever happened to be in the fridge for everyone else. It's not quite second nature to Lee, but it comes with a great deal less awkwardness than most of the other hospitality she's shown to the Fianna Galliard.

She doesn't understand the exchange between Danicka and Simon, and she doesn't try. She offers food and drink to Robbie, then settles herself back on the couch, folding her legs this time, taking up less space while she eats.

Then Danicka is leaving. "Thanks. Tomorrow's we're hitting Utgarde Keep, are you in?"

[Danicka Musil] Over her shoulder, the departing Shadow Lord kinswoman looks at Lee and cocks a small half-smile. "I think I can give up wiping the floor with Alliance scum for an evening. Eightish?"

[Liadan] "Awesome, eightish it is," she says. "See you tomorrow." Though, she probably won't see her, at least not face to real life face.

[Victor Oseragighte] Even Victor recognizes the topic of Danicka and Lee's bizarre little exchange, shaking his head and chuckle as he picks at pieces of meat and pops the top on his beer, downing a swallow. He turns toward Robbie and gestures to him with the rim of his bottle. "Galliards spread news. Looks like you have a tale of warning to tell."

[Danicka Musil] "Spectacular," she says musingly, and continues on her way, her goodbyes already said to the rest of the room. Her heels tap quietly as she heads down the stairs.

[Danicka Musil] [thanks for the rp, folks! danicka's out!]

[Robbie Murdoch] [thanks!]

[Victor Oseragighte] (( 'night! ))

[Simon] He purses his lips up at Danicka, her comment prompts his eyes to narrow and there was a hint of anger within. It was impossible to convey exactly what had unsettled the full moon but it was apparent that he was now looking at her in a manner much akin to the look Robbie was giving him. He placed the stuffed animal gently on the table and nodded his head though his friendly smile had been replaced by a cold and empty look."Of course..."

The Shadow Lord tucked the toy away with the other three who remained and settled gently back in his chair. His eyes going to Robbie and he nodded his head back at the man. He didn't need to wish the man a good night that much was implied in the nod."We find out more about these guys and I will be the first to grab you robbie... If we get a chance for a second strike I wouldn't dream of leaving you out."He says with a nod of his head.

When Danicka turns to leave his eyes follow the woman, still narrowed. Dark eyes showing that the playful mood of the Shadow Lord had been stripped away and replaced by something far more sinister. His nostrils flare a little and his entire body remains tensed until she actually makes her way out. White knuckles and a slightly twitching lip were released when she was gone and he stood slowly and began to gather up his own belongings.

[Simon] (night to you!)

[Robbie Murdoch] The food being offered in his direction halts Robbie, who hesitates a moment before grabbing a few cold cuts; a brownie. Then his eyes flick back to Simon. He nods once, wordlessly, and then heads down the hall toward Room 7.

[i think i'm out too, folks! pretty sleepy!]

[Victor Oseragighte] (( Rest well there! ))